


The Shadow Proclamation

by KatZen



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-19 03:30:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19967323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatZen/pseuds/KatZen
Summary: A monster from their father's past shows up on Ellen's doorstep, claiming to want to help the Winchesters. But who is the Doctor, and what is he keeping from the brothers?





	1. Chapter 1

_The man stood in the doorway._

_The light outside silhouetted his slim form, his posture that mimicked ease but carried with it a tense menace. His hand was wrapped around Jo’s arm. She stood frozen beside him, her eyes pleading with her mother to do something. She stood still like she dared not try to pull away, but like she wanted to._

_The man’s face was a kaleidoscope of forms, shifting rapidly from one to the next, but his expression was visible, if not any individual features. He looked angry, but restrained; not overtly threatening, not yet. He was speaking to Ellen, who stood just inside of her rental house, where she’d been staying since the Roadhouse was destroyed. Her shotgun hung at her side, at the ready but not aimed. He was too close to Jo. There was nothing she could do._

_Ellen said something inaudible, and the man released Jo’s arm. She ran to her mother, stepping behind her and keeping her eyes locked on the stranger as he spoke with her mother. His hands were slipped into the pockets of the long coat he wore, and he made no moves toward either woman, but everything about him spoke of danger._

_And then, suddenly, still cycling rapidly through faces, he stopped speaking to Ellen. He paused, looked around, and then up._

_Up. At Sam._

_“How are you doing that?” he asked, frowning. Ignoring something that Ellen was saying, he turned fully to face Sam’s vantage point, pulling a silver instrument out of his pocket. The tip of it shone blue, and he pointed it up._

_Sam felt—_

_Sam had never_ felt _anything in a vision before. Not like this._

_Sam felt a thrilling sensation in his stomach, like dropping down on a roller coaster._

_“You shouldn’t be able to do that,” the man said, glancing down at the instrument in his hand. His eyebrows rose, and he looked back up. Sam could see a trace of a smile, and for just a split second his face stilled: spiky brown hair, rectangular glasses, wide brown eyes. “Oh,” he said, “that is interesting. Ellen, did you know the Winchester boy could do that?” He turned back to Ellen as if they were old friends, Sam apparently forgotten. Ellen reached out behind her to push Jo farther back._

_Sam woke up._

* * *

Sam woke up gasping.

The motel room coalesced around him, filling in the space the vision had left with sensory perception...the damp smell of mildewed floorboards, the soft clicking of a laptop, the rough sheets against his arms. He struggled to even out his breathing and sit up, only to be hit by a final wave of sensory input: a sudden tsunami of pain as a migraine overwhelmed him. He groaned out loud and sank back onto the worn mattress, covering his eyes with his hands.

The clicking stopped. “Sammy?” Sam could hear the chair creak as Dean stood up, approaching him carefully. He tried to make a thumbs-up sign with the hand closest to Dean, but he wasn’t sure he entirely succeeded.

“Water,” he croaked, and heard the sounds of Dean rushing to the sink and filling up a glass. He experimented with cracking an eye open, and the light rushed in through his fingers, sending a lance of agony into his brain. He moaned.

“Woah, woah, hang tight,” Dean said, blessedly quietly. “Don’t move. Vision? Just make a noise if it was.”

Sam grunted what he hoped was an affirmative. A rustling in a bag followed, and then Dean’s hands were on his arm.

“I got water and some painkillers,” he said. “Take it slow.”

Sam obeyed gratefully, fumbling for the pills and the glass and bringing them slowly to his mouth. Then he pressed the heels of his hands against his temples, shoving viciously as though he could press the pain out through his eyes. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and waited.

When he finally was able to open his eyes without wanting to shove an ice pick through them, he saw Dean watching him, a worried crease between his brows.

“Bad one, huh?” Dean asked, his voice still soft. “Thought they were gone.”

Sam huffed a pained laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.” And it was the truth— he hadn’t had a vision since they’d killed the Yellow-Eyed Demon. It had been _months_ of reprieve, all lost in an instant with this one. Now who knew. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“What was it?” Dean asked.

Sam struggled to an upright sitting position, then levered himself back against the headboard. Dean helped him down carefully, his eyes sharp and cautious.

“It was weird,” Sam said. Dean barked a laugh, and Sam smiled ruefully. “Yeah, obviously. It, um. I don’t— I don’t really know what happened, but we need to go to Ellen’s.”

Dean startled. “Ellen and Jo? Are they okay?” Sam nodded, tilting his head slowly to crack his neck and relieve some pressure. Dean settled just a little bit. “What did you see?”

Sam hesitated, trying to drag the words up out of the foggy, ethereal space his visions held in his mind. The sense memory of that sinking sensation in his gut as the creature held whatever that instrument was aloft, the keen _knowing_ in its eyes as it looked up at Sam. The sharp curiosity.

“It, uh,” Sam began, clearing his throat. “I saw something, something that looked like a man. It wasn’t. It kept changing its face, its body. I must’ve seen almost a dozen different people, always men, but...like, young, old, tall, short, hair all different colors, in different clothes. I mean, I couldn’t pick him out of a line-up. He’d've been the whole line-up.”

Dean frowned pensively. “Shifter?”

Sam shook his head, then winced. “No. It was all happening while I watched. He was _flickering_ through all the forms, I couldn’t— I couldn’t make any of them out too well. It was like a flip book, I saw the movement but none of the images clearly. Ellen was with this thing but I don’t get the feeling she saw it the same way.” He paused, took a deep breath, and continued: “He had Jo.”

Dean bolted out of his chair, staring at Sam for a moment and then grabbing his bag off of the floor. “You said they were all right,” he said accusingly. He grabbed Sam’s bag, too. “You gotta get up, man, I know it hurts. You can tell me the rest on the way, because we’re going. Now.”

Sam slipped carefully out of the bed, not arguing because Dean was right. Whatever this thing was, the look on Ellen’s face in the vision told him that the Harvelles were going to need backup. So he ignored the residual pain throbbing in his head and quickly grabbed the few other things that remained in the room, glad he’d fallen asleep in his clothes last night.

As they made their way out of the motel, Sam kept talking. “He wasn’t hurting her, Dean. He had her by the arm, like he was...I don’t know, scolding her.” He shut the door behind them and hurried after Dean, who was booking it toward the parking lot. He raised his voice to cover the distance his brother had put between them. “I think Ellen told him to let her go and he did. He didn’t look like he was going to hurt either one of them, and Ellen seemed to know who he was. She had her shotgun out.”

Dean threw his bag into the Impala and grabbed Sam’s away from him, throwing it in behind. “Yeah, well, maybe your freaky pay-per-view showed you the wrong clip,” he said darkly, slamming the back door and swinging himself into the driver’s seat. Sam quickly circled the car and slipped in next to his brother. “Maybe he started throwing down after your vision ended.”

Sam shrugged uncomfortably as Dean threw the car into gear and peeled out of the lot. He fastened his seatbelt and rubbed his temples, but didn’t say anything. After a too-long silence, Dean turned and looked at him. “Well? What happened after that? Was that it?”

 _You shouldn’t be able to do that_.

Sam tried to speak, but couldn’t find the words.

Some of the anger drained from Dean’s face and was replaced by worry. He let off of the accelerator and took a deep breath. “It wasn’t,” he said. “Come on, Sammy. You can tell me, man. What happened next?”

Sam opened his mouth to answer and found the words failing him again. He shuddered, and watched as Dean's face darkened with tension.

“He, um.” Sam crossed his arms tightly, protectively, over his chest. He stared fixedly out the window, unable to meet his brother’s eyes. “The guy, the, uh, thing. He looked at me.”

Silence.

“He looked at _you_ ,” Dean echoed flatly.

“And he talked to me,” Sam continued, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “In the vision. He asked me how I was doing it, I guess how I was seeing him. He said I shouldn’t be able to, and he asked Ellen if she knew about it. He knew who I was. He called me the Winchester boy.”

The steering wheel creaked under Dean’s vice grip on it. The car jerked to the right as Dean regained his equilibrium, but Sam didn’t do anything but grip the door handle. He knew in a place very deep inside of him that there was nowhere in the world safer than the Impala with Dean behind the wheel, and sure enough, Dean righted the car quickly. He stared at Sam, incredulous.

“Sammy, that ain’t possible,” he said.

Sam laughed hollowly. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

“Is it?” Dean added, his voice a little less sure.

Sam shrugged. “Who knows. It shouldn’t be. When I’m having a vision I’m seeing the future. I’m not...I don’t think I’m there for it, not in any physical way. He shouldn’t have been able to see me, much less talk to me. But he did. And he knew my name, and he knew Ellen’s name, and...Dean, I’ve got a really bad feeling about this. This is a new kind of weird.”

Dean shook his head slowly. “Like we need that,” he said. “But there’s no getting around it. We can’t let Ellen and Jo deal with this on their own. If that thing hurts them…”

“I know,” said Sam quietly.

They drove on in silence for a long while, the highway blank and featureless as it blurred past the windows. Sam rested his forehead on the cool glass, shutting his eyes and letting the rhythmic purr of the engine as it vibrated through the car lull him. When he opened his eyes he saw the middle-of-nowhere plains stretch out on all sides, and suddenly the immensity of their isolation hit Sam in a way that it rarely did anymore.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in this exact position, sitting shotgun as the Impala chewed up the miles on a lonely highway, countless times since they’d started on this stupid, horrible adventure. It wasn’t like anything about this was unfamiliar. But this time, as the stark landscape surrounded him, he felt not only exposed and vulnerable in the world beyond him, but he felt exposed and vulnerable inside of his own head.

He frowned at the thought, which had arisen of its own accord and seemingly out of nowhere. But he couldn’t shake it. His visions were always a vulnerable time for him, physically and mentally...he had no control over them, no way to escape them or predict them, and he was KO’d until he was able to recover from the physical pain. But this time it was beyond that. That creature had invaded his mind so easily, and Sam didn’t even know what he was. He could be anywhere, waiting for them at Ellen’s, hiding at some rest stop, waiting to appear just in front of the Impala, sending Sam and his brother careening off the road to pick through Sam’s brain in person.

Or, worse, maybe he didn’t need to. Worse, maybe the door was already open and this creature could stroll in at his leisure and take what he wanted. Sam, his mouth not asking his brain for permission, whispered, “He scares me, Dean.”

Dean didn’t turn, but he inhaled slowly and deeply, and shifted his hands nervously on the steering wheel. His face showed nothing but hardness, but Sam could see the concern underneath. “You don’t scare easy, Sam,” his brother said. “If you got a bad feeling about this, we need to be careful. What’s spooking you?”

Sam passed a hand over his head and reached under his seat for a dagger kept there. He took it out and gripped it, feeling its heft, its solidity. He felt better with a weapon in his hands. “I’m just getting this Big Bad vibe from him,” he replied. “He didn’t just see me, just talk to me. He...he affected me, Dean. While he was talking he pointed this tool at me, and I _felt_ it, and Dean…” He laughed a little, but there was no humor in it. “If he’d wanted me to stay in the vision, I don’t think I could’ve left. Don’t ask me how I know that. I just know.”

Dean didn’t say anything to that, just drove on in silence. Sam turned back out the window as Kansas stretched out behind them and turned into Nebraska, fields and plains indistinguishable and uniform around them. The vision wouldn’t leave his mind, dancing at the edges of his eyes no matter where he looked or how he tried to divert his thoughts. Usually that first flush of horror that his visions left with him faded fairly quickly: the thought of going on the hunt, of taking on whatever monster he saw, helped him put it behind him. Whatever he’d seen, it was his job to go out and stop it, and that gave him purpose. But this time...this time it was different. The icy feeling in the pit of his stomach would not go away.

He kept thinking about that split second in which the creature’s face stilled and he could _see_ it. It looked so human, but Sam knew down in his bones that it was not. Whatever it was it set Sam’s teeth on edge, it screamed _predator_ , it triggered Sam’s deepest fight-or-flight. Mostly flight. And yet once he’d felt the thing’s eyes on him, he felt frozen. Trapped, trapped nowhere, but trapped wherever the creature wanted him to be.

Okay. This was useless. He shook his head— carefully, gently, still sick with the lingering throb in his head— and grabbed his father’s journal, rifling through it, hoping for something. Anything. Anything that might explain whatever this was. Vampires, werewolves, demons of all varieties, minor gods...all of them appeared in the journal. Everything they’d come up against so far, their father had either taught them about or left them clues about in the journal. But this seemed far beyond what twistedly passed as normal for the Winchesters.

This was a new paradigm, and the uncertainty of it churned in Sam’s stomach.

His reverie was broken as Dean shifted in his seat and grabbed his cell phone, glancing down for a moment and dialing. Sam looked over, and Dean said, hitting the speakerphone, “I’m calling them. If that thing is on its way Ellen needs a heads-up.” Sam nodded, settling back against the seat as the phone rang.

“ _Hello._ ” Sam almost wept at the sound of Ellen’s voice, calm and present, but he kept it together.

“Ellen, it’s Dean. Sam just had a vision, and you and Jo are in danger. Get out of the house now and we’ll meet you wherever you tell us to go.”

A long moment passed. The brothers looked at each other, unnerved. “Ellen?” Dean said. “You there?”

A small laugh. “ _You said Sam had a vision about me and Jo?_ ” Ellen asked.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Now get out of there—”

“ _Jo’s been missing for a week._ ” Dean fell silent, and Sam stared at the phone. “ _If Sam saw her back here, I’m not going anywhere. What did he see?_ ”

Dean shoved the phone toward Sam, his eyes distant as he stared out the windshield. Sam could see the storm brewing in him, and took the phone in fumbling hands. “Ellen, it’s Sam. It’s hard to explain. I don’t know what the thing was, but Jo was safe, I think. It was something you knew, whatever it was. Not human but it looked human. Its face and body kept changing, but I don’t know if you saw that, in the vision.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath. “ _It looked like a man? Did you hear it speak? Did it sound British?_ ”

Sam frowned at Dean, who didn’t look at him. “Yeah. Yeah, he had a British accent. _It_ did.” he corrected himself. “Ellen, do you know what this thing is?”

There was a silence over the phone for another moment. “ _I’m not sure. But I have my guess. And if I’m right, and he’s coming, then the two of you are not safe. Don’t come here, boys. I’m not kidding.”_

“Not gonna happen,” Dean snapped. “We are not leaving you alone with that thing. Whatever it is, we’ve seen worse, and we’re on our way with lots of firepower.”

“ _Dean, you have_ not _seen worse, and nothing you have in your trunk is gonna kill this thing,_ ” Ellen said, her voice firm. “ _Believe me, boys, if it’s who I think it is, you are not ready to deal with something like this._ ”

Dean started to argue, but Sam held up a hand. “Okay, Ellen,” he said, waving dismissively to cut off Dean’s protestations. “We’ll stay put. Call us in twenty-four hours to let us know you’re okay, all right? That vision felt pretty dark and I want to know this thing didn’t hurt you.”

Ellen paused, and then said, “ _Okay, boys. I will. You stay safe. Sammy, if you get any more visions about that man, call me again._ ” With that, she hung up.

“What the hell, Sammy?” Dean shouted. “We’ll _stay put?_ What the hell are you thinking?”

“That arguing with her was pointless, but that it didn’t matter because there’s no way we’re turning around,” Sam replied in a flat voice. “Keep driving, idiot.”

Dean was silent for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Yeah, okay, Sammy. Good move. Now, here’s what’s bugging me. Ellen knew what the thing you saw was, but she didn’t want to say. If Ellen knew, no way Dad didn’t. So why isn’t there anything in the journal? Why didn’t he mention anything about this thing?”

“What’s bothering _me_ is that Jo’s been missing for a week, and I see this thing hauling her into their house like he’s gonna ground her and take away her phone privileges,” Sam said. “Even if he was the one who kidnapped her to begin with, why would he bring her back home? Unharmed?”

“Maybe he wanted Ellen to watch him kill her,” Dean said grimly.

Sam shook his head. “No, I thought about that, too, but he just...let her go,” he said. “Ellen had her shotgun out and he didn’t hold on to his leverage. Why would he do that?”

Dean shrugged, his shoulders tight. “Don’t know. Can’t say I care about his motivation. What I want is to go in, waste this thing, get a drink, and forget this happened.”

Sam had no argument with that.

Morning started to turn to midday as Ellen’s neighborhood appeared on the horizon. The little town was quiet at this time of day, kids at school and adults at work, and Sam felt a foreboding shiver run down his spine. That foreboding, however, did not drown out the relief that he felt as they pulled up into Ellen’s driveway.

Dean parked and they walked up to the front door. Dean rapped impatiently, shouting, “Ellen? Open up!”

They heard footsteps and then the metallic sound of locks coming undone, and the door opened to reveal a very unhappy Ellen standing in front of them. She looked bedraggled, her clothes rumpled and dark circles under her eyes that spoke of a week of sleepless nights. She stared at them with a combination of disappointment, anger, and what Sam knew was a fear that bordered on terror. “I told you boys not to come,” she said.

“Couldn’t be helped,” Dean said with a winning smile, which lasted for a second and then dropped off his face as though it were never there. “Has it come yet?”

“No.” Ellen stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter. “Get in here fast. And I want you in the back. Sammy, what time of day was it in your vision?”

Sam peered out the window. “Looked about like this.”

“Any minute then,” Ellen murmured. She swept the yard once more with her eyes, then closed the door and locked it up tight. She then turned back to them, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Stay in the back. No, I am not asking you, Dean Winchester, I am _telling you_. I don’t care what you hear, you stay in the back. I am not having you hurt, not in my house.”

“And I’m not letting that thing hurt you,” Dean retorted, pulling his pistol out from the back of his jeans.

Ellen stepped forward and put her hand on Dean’s wrist. He met her eyes, startled, and let her lower his arm to his side. “He won’t hurt me,” she said softly. Dean frowned, but put away the gun. “He won’t hurt Jo, either. But I can’t promise he won’t hurt the two of you. So promise me— _promise me_ you won’t come out while he’s here.”

Sam could see the trembling in Ellen’s hands, the effort behind her proud, straight stance. The way her eyes kept flicking back to the door, waiting for a knock, waiting for their time to be up. He took a deep breath and said, “Ellen, what _is_ this thing? What kind of demon is it?”

Ellen met his eyes for a moment, and he saw a struggle in her face. But then she looked away, looking years older all of a sudden. “Boys,” she said, “I wish I could tell you. But you are just not ready yet. You have to trust me. Everybody will be okay, as long as you hide.”

Dean stepped forward, argument in his eyes and on his lips, but Sam, still watching Ellen carefully, put his hand on his brother’s arm. “Okay, and I mean it this time,” he said. “We’ll stay back.”

“Sammy—” Dean started, but Sam shook his head. Dean quieted.

Ellen nodded, relief evident in her body. “Right. You get into the back. When he—”

They all stopped at a sound from outside, from the back yard: a sound like wind rushing and gears creaking. Ellen gasped, her face draining of color. “He’s here,” she said softly. “Get. _Now._ ”

Sam grabbed Dean’s arm, and together they rushed into the kitchen, pulling the door closed behind them. Sam crouched down next to the door and Dean sat beside him. They could still hear what was happening in the living room, could still run to Ellen’s aid if she needed it.

“This is nuts,” Dean hissed. “We can’t leave them out there with—”

“Ellen knows what she’s doing,” Sam whispered. “We have to trust her.”

Dean started to reply, but Sam shushed him as the locks began to click open. They waited in hushed silence and they heard the door creak, as well as the sound of Ellen’s shotgun as she readied it.

“Ah, Nebraska!” Sam sucked in a breath at the sound of that voice. “Never get much of a chance to visit Nebraska. Not a lot of call for my services here. But I do enjoy popping ‘round when I get the opportunity. Always good to see an old friend, isn’t it, Ellen?”

“Jo, are you all right?” Ellen asked her voice studiously even.

“I’m fine, Mom, I’m okay.” Jo’s voice trembled just the smallest bit.

“Funny story,” the creature said casually. “I found her in a warehouse a couple towns away, trying to hack the head off of a juvenile Blathereen! Had to smooth that over, get her out and get that poor Blathereen to safety. Probably shouldn’t let her out of your sight until you’re sure she’s not going to run off and provoke an _incident_.”

Sam and Dean locked eyes, and he saw that his brother heard it, too. The creature sounded breezy, flippant, but there was a dark undercurrent of anger running through his voice. It made the hair on Sam’s arms stand up.

“Let her go,” Ellen ordered.

“Course,” the creature said, and Sam could hear Jo’s footsteps as she ran behind her mother. The creature sighed. “Really, Ellen, a shotgun? You know how I feel about guns.”

“I do,” Ellen said shortly. “Makes me feel better, though. Might not kill you, but it’ll slow you down. I guess something got you, though: you got a new face.”

“Yes, I did!” The creature’s voice brightened, like he was flattered she’d noticed. “Bit of trouble aboard Satellite Five, but that’s a story for another time. Do you like it?”

Ellen snorted. “Very nice. Now get out.”

Sam held his breath— the idea of ordering this thing around made his stomach twist.

“You know I can’t. First of all, we need to have a talk about your daughter,” the creature said, his voice darkening again. “I’ve told you it’s too dangerous for her to hunt. That Blathereen did nothing to her, or anybody. They’re a harmless people, and I _specifically_ told you to let me deal with any Slitheen you find. I am, by the way, doing you a kindness by assuming the only reason Joanna would have attacked that Blathereen is because she thought he was Slitheen.” There was a pregnant pause. “This would be a very different conversation, if I thought otherwise.”

“Don’t you threaten my daughter,” Ellen said, and Sam could hear the tension ringing in her voice. If he felt the creature’s anger, the darkness in his voice all the way from another room, he could only imagine how afraid Ellen must be.

“I’m not threatening anyone,” the creature said coldly. “I’m warning both of you. There’ve been innocent lives taken in this war of yours, and others are beginning to notice. Just like last time, Ellen. You don’t want that again, I promise you, and—” The creature’s voice stopped. So did Sam’s heart. “How are you doing that?”

“Who are you talking to?” Ellen demanded.

Sam reached out and gripped Dean’s arm. “This is my vision,” he breathed. “This is what he said to me. He’s looking at me now.”

“You shouldn’t be able to do that,” the creature continued, sounding intrigued. A high-pitched buzzing sound filled the air, and then: “Oh, that is _interesting_. Ellen, did you know the Winchester boy could do that?”

A shuffling sound— Ellen pushing Jo further behind her, Sam remembered. “Do what?”

“No, he was just—nevermind. It’s not important.” The creature’s voice trailed off, sounding distracted, pensive.

“Why are you here?” Ellen demanded.

The creature laughed. “What, returning your daughter to you, safe as houses, and preventing a war with Raxacoricofallapatorious isn’t enough of a reason to stop by?” he asked. Ellen said nothing, and he sighed again. “Okay. You’re right, Ellen. I need to find John Winchester.”

Dean jumped like he’d been electrocuted, and Sam squeezed his arm.

Ellen laughed in a way that sounded like she’d been punched in the gut. “You need to recalibrate your ship, _Doctor_. John’s dead. You just missed him.”

Sam held his breath, but there was no sound for a long moment. Finally, the creature—the _Doctor_ —said, his voice very quiet, “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. Leave,” Ellen ordered.

“If he’s gone, I need to find his sons,” the Doctor said. “At least the eldest must be following in John’s footsteps, yes? He was a loyal boy.”

Sam snuck a look at Dean, who was glaring at the door and refused to meet his brother’s eyes.

“I don’t know where the Winchesters are,” Ellen said, just a little bit too quickly. Sam winced.

The Doctor didn’t say anything for a moment. “Ellen, lying is unbecoming,” he said finally, his voice soft and dangerous. Sam heard a few footsteps, and tensed because it was almost certainly the Doctor closing in on Ellen. He heard a shuffle, maybe Ellen backing away. He kept his grip on Dean’s arm to stop him from bursting out of the kitchen. The Doctor continued: “I’m trying to—oh. They’re here, aren’t they?”

“Doctor, you leave them alone,” Ellen cried, and Sam heard three sets of footsteps approaching the kitchen. He stumbled backwards and felt Dean pull him to his feet, then saw Dean pull the pistol out from behind him, gripping it tight.

The footfalls stopped at the door, and they heard the Doctor’s quiet voice. “I’m here to help, Ellen. I don’t want to see anyone hurt.” A silence fell, and then he said, “I understand why you’ve never trusted me. But it’s not too late to start.”

The door to the kitchen opened.

There he was, out of the hellish dreamscape of Sam’s vision and before him in the flesh. The face he’d seen for the split second, right in front of him. The Doctor was fully humanoid, tall and thin, wearing a blue pinstripe suit and a long brown overcoat, with red Converse sneakers, jarringly casual and human. Thick-rimmed rectangular glasses perched on his nose, and the silver instrument Sam had seen in his vision was still in the Doctor’s hand. The Doctor’s eyes were wide, focused right beyond Sam’s shoulder.

Sam took in a deep breath, bracing himself.

And Dean fired his gun at almost exactly the same moment that the Doctor depressed the button on his instrument.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! And still looking for a beta if anybody's interested.

Things happened too quickly for Sam to keep track of it all, but he could say with confidence that none of it was good.

When the dust settled, he took a quick inventory of his surroundings. Dean was hunched over on his knees, cradling his right hand to his chest. Sam could see blood seeping through his fingers. The pistol had backfired, and Dean’s hand was a mess of blood and burns.

The Doctor, still near the doorway, was sprawled out on the ground. Dean’s pistol had backfired, but not before it fired right, and he had gotten a clean shot in clear through the Doctor’s right shoulder. Sam sucked in a breath, watching the creature’s form carefully.

Dean’s quiet cursing was the only thing that broke the silence for a long moment. Sam took a cautious step towards the Doctor.

The bullet wound was an ugly injury, Sam could tell when he got a little closer. So he was extremely surprised when the Doctor bolted upright.

Sam stumbled backwards, alarmed, and the Doctor unbuttoned his jacket and undershirt, pulling the shirt away from his shoulder. He touched the wound with delicate fingers and hissed. “Ah, that’s a bad one,” he said, sounding mostly disappointed. He looked behind himself and saw the gory bullet, and made a face. “Least it went straight through.” He rotated his shoulder a few times, grimacing as he did so, and then looked at Dean and grimaced harder. He stood, fishing something out of his pocket and approaching Dean. “Sorry about that,” he said, sounding sincere. “Guns make me nervous.”

“Get the hell away from me,” Dean said, his voice rough, trying to scramble back against the cabinets. It only bought him a few feet, and since the Doctor was standing it was fruitless. The Doctor crouched down in front of him, opening the small container he’d retrieved from his pocket. He grabbed Dean’s wrist above the injury, released it and shoved his glasses up his nose then took Dean’s hand again. He resisted Dean’s attempts to pull away—stronger than he looks, Sam thought unhappily—and spread whatever ointment the container held along the wounds.

“Oi,” the Doctor scolded, giving Dean an irritable look over the glasses, “if you stop struggling it would hurt less. It’s medicated gel. This particular type doesn’t become available to humans for another, ah, couple of centuries, but I happened to have some in my pocket so lucky you, eh?”

“Yeah, lucky me,” Dean said, still struggling. Finally the Doctor released his hand, and Dean drew it back to his chest, holding it with his good hand like he was afraid the Doctor was going to try to take it back again. He glared up at the creature distrustfully. The Doctor rolled his eyes.

“You’re welcome,” the Doctor said with extravagant sarcasm. He stood up straight, dusting the knees off of his suit pants. He surveyed the room.

Sam stood by the wall, closer to the corner, in what he realized had been an unconscious attempt to hide himself. It didn’t work. The Doctor met his eyes and studied him for a moment, dipping his fingers into the gel and dabbing it onto the wound on his shoulder. He winced slightly, but didn’t take his eyes off of Sam.

“Now, you,” he said, stepping forward toward him. Sam took a step back, but the Doctor didn’t stop. He backed Sam into the counters, his eyes sharp and calculating. Sam pressed the small of his back against the countertops, trying to maximize the distance between them. “Brilliant thing, you are. That was some trick out there, earlier. You weren’t projecting yourself from back here. How long ago was it, for you?”

Sam swallowed hard, and, not sure why he was answering, said, “Early this morning. About six hours ago.”

“You don’t have to tell this thing  _ anything _ , Sammy,” Dean shouted from his place on the floor, gritting his teeth against the pain in his hand. He levered himself standing and Sam stole a look at the injury. He felt the familiar cold settle into his stomach as he realized it was healing. Already healing.

The Doctor frowned petulantly at Dean as he wiped his hand off on his pants and slipped the small container back into his pocket. Sam watched it as it disappeared, not even disrupting the line of the Doctor’s long brown coat. Like it had disappeared. Like it had never been there.

“ _ Thing? _ ” the Doctor echoed. “You wound me.  _ Well. _ ” He glanced at his shoulder as he pulled the shirt back over the rapidly healing gunshot wound, smiling a little bit, ironically. “In several ways. Right. I’m called the Doctor, but you know that because you heard everything Ellen and I said in the other room. So I suppose small talk is unnecessary. Let’s get to the questions, shall we?”

Sam stared at the pocket for a little bit longer, and when he looked up he saw the Doctor watching him curiously. His eyes were narrowed just a little, and he gave overall the impression of a man solving a very complex math problem. He huffed an almost inaudible laugh, and then said. “Samuel. Questions?”

“How do you know us?” Sam asked. “How did you know our dad?”

The Doctor paused. He lifted his chin, studying Sam from down his nose despite his height disadvantage. Then he turned his eyes down, shaking his head. “Your father and I met,” he said. “Sixteen years ago.”

Sam startled.

“That’s bullshit,” Dean spat. “We would’ve remembered. Hell, I’d’ve been—”

“Thirteen,” the Doctor said, and Dean fell quiet. “And nine,” he added, looking at Sam.

“We’d remember,” Sam said.

The Doctor held his gaze for long enough that Sam was the one to look away. Then the Doctor turned to Ellen, who also looked away. Jo stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her mother’s shoulders, but she looked as bewildered as Sam felt. The Doctor stood there for a while, watching Ellen, and when it became clear that she wasn’t going to say anything, he said, “We—well, it was decided that it was best if the three of you didn’t remember what happened.”

Silence fell over the room. Jo took a small step away from Ellen, raising a hand to her mouth. Sam stared at Ellen, saw the tears in her eyes. She ran her hands over her face.

“You were all so young,” she said softly. “We all—we thought it was the right thing to do. The things you saw…” She trailed off, her mouth working like the words just wouldn’t arrive, and she turned to Jo.

Jo inhaled, unsteady, and said, “You let some demon wipe our memories?”

Ellen raised a hand as though to touch Jo’s face, but Jo took another step back. Ellen swallowed visibly and turned to glare at the Doctor.

“Gonna let me field that one, huh?” she asked sharply. “The name calling doesn’t bother you now?”

The Doctor’s gaze was steady and cold as he slipped his hands into his pockets and shook his head. “I respected your wishes sixteen years ago, against my better judgment,” he said quietly. “I didn’t do this, Ellen. You did.”

“You did plenty,” Ellen said. “Now get out of my house. You’ve done enough damage today.”

“I can’t and you know why. If I leave, and things continue like they’ve been, you’re asking me to condemn your daughter and John’s boys to death.” Any trace of kindness that had been present in the Doctor’s expression was gone, and Sam shivered at the anger that remained. “I have done things I am not proud of for you and your family, Ellen Harvelle. But I won’t do this. Not again.”

Ellen took a step closer to the Doctor, who didn’t move, but watched her closely. Sam could see her hands trembling, but her voice was steady as she said, “That’s how this works, then? You respect my wishes until you don’t want to anymore? How are you any different from what we fight?”

Something flashed over the Doctor’s face for a split second, too fast for Sam to parse it, and then a stillness came over his face that was even more frightening than his anger. It was the look of a man who’d made up his mind, and was beyond appeal. He drew himself up straight.

“I am doing my duty under the Shadow Proclamation,” he said flatly. “And I’m being kind. You may not think I’m on your side but if I weren’t, I could arrest Joanna right now and bring her up without another word. Give it a week and I’d be back for Dean and Samuel. Understand that, Ellen. I am protecting you.”

Sam turned to his brother, who had been suspiciously quiet this entire time. Dean’s face was livid, his mouth slightly open and his eyes fixed on the Doctor. “Dean?” Sam said softly, crossing to his brother. “What is it?”

“The Shadow Proclamation,” Dean said. “Dad wrote about that in his journal.”

Despite their quiet tones, the Doctor’s head snapped toward them and he took a step in their direction, Ellen evidently forgotten. “He did what?” he asked, his voice sharp.

“What did it say?” asked Sam, keeping the Doctor in his peripheral vision.

Dean also glanced up at the Doctor, wary, as he said, “Not much. Something about some sort of council of demons. They find and kill Hunters. He didn’t mention it to me, not out loud, but it was in the journal. I never thought much of it. Though, I mean, I guess I should have.” Dean frowned. “Weird.”

The Doctor relaxed during Dean’s explanation, squinting up at the ceiling like he was working it out in his own head. “Well, that’s not quite right,” he said, and then, under his breath so that Sam could barely make it out, “perception filter’s working, at least.” Then he glanced at Ellen. “I thought the deal was none of you would ever speak of it again.”

“John didn’t tell me he wrote about it,” Ellen said defensively. “But that journal was his. He didn’t expect to leave the boys. Not yet.”

Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder and felt his brother grow still as Ellen spoke. She couldn’t know how open a wound that was for Dean—Sam knew she missed their dad, too, but John’s death had hurt no one so much as Dean. And beyond that, she was wrong. Wrong, or lying: their dad had left the journal to Dean before his death. Whatever he had written in it, he’d meant for them to know.

The Doctor nodded slowly, but his eyes were narrowed slightly. He turned to Sam and Dean, and his expression changed to one of sympathy. “I am sorry to hear about your father,” he said, sounding genuine. “He was a good man.”

“Damn right,” Dean said gruffly, but Sam could feel the hitch in his breath that he was able to keep out of his voice.

“Look,” Sam said, “let’s lay out some groundwork. Okay? You know, since our memories were wiped. Let’s get on the same page.”

“Ah, well.” The Doctor sucked in a breath through his teeth and rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “That’s sort of the, ah, the trouble. You see—”

“Your dad and Bill and I did what we did or a reason,” Ellen interrupted, and the Doctor looked put out, but fell silent. “You may not agree with it or be happy about it, but I stand by our decision. There are things you don’t need to know about.”

Sam was struck silent, staring between Ellen and the Doctor in shock. Finally he recovered himself and said, “We’re  _ adults _ now, Ellen! You don’t have that right anymore. And whatever Dad thought he could protect us from, he can’t, now.”

Ellen strode up to the Doctor, ignoring Sam, and shoved her finger right in his face. He looked down at her, unmoving. “Don’t you dare tell them, Doctor,” she hissed. “It’s hard enough as it is. You know that. Like it or not, you know that.”

They stayed like that for a moment, Ellen rigid and glowering, the Doctor still and pensive, their eyes never leaving each other’s. Finally, the Doctor sighed and lowered his eyes. “I know,” he said.

Ellen let out a shuddering breath and nodded. “So, what now?” she asked. “I know we aren’t lucky enough for you to just leave us in peace. And if you’re here that means something’s wrong, and it isn’t just Jo mixing up Slitheen and Blitheen.”

“Blathereen,” the Doctor said, sounding pained at Ellen’s ignorance. “And really, they’re not hard to tell apart: totally different linguistic markers  _ and _ sociocultural behaviors, to say nothing of their tribal markings on  _ all _ of their belongings, but that aside, no. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Because I’ve been...sent...to keep an eye on the Winchesters.”

“Yeah, like hell,” exclaimed Dean. That was, apparently, the last straw. “Come on, Sammy, we’re leaving.” With that he pushed himself fully upright, using Sam’s shoulder to lever himself away from the counter that had been holding most of his weight.

Sam stared at Dean as he moved like he was speaking Klingon. Did his brother really think the Doctor would let them leave? Just like that? He looked from his brother to the creature, waiting for something to happen. The Doctor just watched them impassively, remaining standing where he was. Sam walked to Dean, never taking his eyes off of the Doctor.

Who, in turn, shook his head wearily. “I’m not going to stop you,” he said. “But, one way or another, I have to watch you. If you let me, I could come with you, keep you from trouble. If not…” He hesitated, choosing his words with care. “...I can’t guarantee what’ll happen. Nothing good.”

Dean bristled. “Is that a threat?” he demanded, reaching for the knife that Sam knew was tucked away in his boot. Sam’s heart began to race.

The Doctor growled, frustrated, and ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up in an impressively gravity-defying manner. “No, it’s not a threat!” he exclaimed, exasperated. Dean stopped reaching for the knife, straightening slowly. “I’m not threatening you. I’m trying to help you. If you don’t want my help, I won’t force it on you. So…” He waved his hands in front of him, making some strangled noises until he finally settled on, “ _ go _ .”

“Just like that?” asked Sam. His voice came out quiet, surprised.

The Doctor turned to him curiously. He peered at him through his glasses, studying. Sam felt exposed, and wondered what the Doctor could read in him. “Yes,” the Doctor finally replied. “Just like that.” His voice took on a bright, curious note as he added, “I won’t keep you here against your will, Samuel.”

Sam swallowed hard and deliberately did not take a step backwards, thrown as he felt.  _ I won’t keep you here against your will _ . Could he know how Sam had felt during the vision? He couldn’t. He also couldn’t have spoken to Sam during the vision, and he couldn’t have healed Dean’s hand like he did, and he couldn’t possibly have met their father sixteen years ago, but he’d done those things, too—or at least claimed he had. So who was to say what the Doctor could and couldn’t do?

But he said nothing, just met the Doctor’s eyes for another long moment, watching the interest in the mysterious creature’s face as they watched each other. Like Sam was something fascinating, something puzzling. Something new.

“Let’s go, Sammy,” Dean said again, heading for the door. Sam shot one last, nervous look at the Doctor, Ellen, and Jo, before following his brother.

The light outside was blinding as they left Ellen’s house. It felt like they’d been in there for ages, and it was somehow jarring to realize that it was still light outside; so little time had actually passed. Once they were far enough from the door that Sam was fairly confident they wouldn’t be overheard, he hissed, “I thought you didn’t want to leave Ellen alone with that thing.”

“She said he won’t hurt them,” Dean said shortly, not looking at Sam, striding right up to the Impala and swinging himself in quickly. “We have to trust her.”

Sam climbed into the passenger seat, frowning at having his words thrown back at him. But he said nothing, just shot one last, anxious glance at the house.

The tires of the Impala screeched their protest as Dean peeled out of the neighborhood, in silence for a long while until Dean said, “I don’t like that thing, Sammy. Gave me the creeps.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Sam muttered. He passed a hand over his face. “Think he’s gonna follow us?”

Dean scoffed. “He can try. We’ve got some practice at avoiding the authorities.”

Sam smiled half-heartedly, appreciating Dean’s effort to cheer him, but the smile faded quickly. “I don’t know, man. I’m not so sure. Ellen was freaked out. And he seemed pretty confident that he could let us go and find us again.”

Dean waved dismissively with one hand. “The bigger they are, yadda yadda.”

Sam thought briefly about arguing, trying to make him take this threat more seriously, but quickly rejected it as unlikely to work based on the precedent of his entire life. He also suspected that beneath the bravado that was probably for his benefit, Dean was as worried as he was. “So. Where to?” he asked.

Dean shrugged. “Figure we’ll drive til we hit a motel that’s less than 50% bedbugs, then find us a case,” he said.

Sam nodded, settling back into his seat. “Okay,” he said. No point in arguing. Dean, ultimately, had the wheel.

It took them a couple of hours and one pit stop for gas and beef jerky (nothing for Sam, thanks), but eventually they found a motel with a vacancy. They climbed out of the car, grabbed their bags, and headed inside.

The motel was a pretty standard issue right-off-the-interstate dive, fading 70s wallpaper and avocado green carpets, but it didn’t look too bad. Behind the counter was a young woman, college aged at the most, with blonde hair and a brighter smile than he usually found in places like this. Her eyes lit up when she saw them, and she stood.

“Afternoon!” she said brightly, leaning on the counter on her elbows. Sam smiled wearily at her, grateful for the warm welcome, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Dean give her a once-over. He elbowed his brother in the side, shaking his head. Dean grunted and glared, but behaved himself.

“We could use a room for a couple of nights,” Sam said once they arrived at the counter.

“Sure, let me see what we’ve got,” the girl said, ducking under the counter. As Sam heard the rattle of keys, he tried to place her accent. Boston, maybe? Definitely not Nebraska. Odd to hear it out in the boonies, whatever it was. She emerged with two keychains. “Room 216, down to your right. How many nights, did you say?”

“I didn’t,” Sam said, “but three would be great. We might need more, if that’s okay?”

“No problem,” she said, smiling sweetly. Sam found himself smiling back, disarmed by the authenticity. “How’re you planning to pay?”

Dean handed her a card and worked out the payment with her while Sam leaned against the counter, suddenly exhausted. They hadn’t, he thought grimly, gone far enough. And they certainly hadn’t taken enough backroads. He peered out into the bright afternoon through the dusty windows, watching the odd car pass by on the highway. If the Doctor was following them, they’d made it really easy for him. And he didn’t seem like a creature who needed things made easy.

He startled when Dean punched him in the arm. “Come on let’s head up,” Dean said, nodding towards the stairwell. Sam cracked his neck, and as he was tilting it he saw the girl grinning at him. He smiled back, then quickly looked away and followed Dean up towards their room.

“So,” Dean drawled once they’d arrived, making the word last the length of about four syllables. Sam groaned, and Dean burst out laughing. “I saw you looking! Puppy-dog eyes and everything. Can’t be helped, she’s smoking.”

“Shut up,” Sam retorted. “She just had a nice smile. It was nice to see somebody happy like that.”

Now Dean groaned as he pulled out the key and opened their room. “Don’t make this a moment, man,” he said. “I just want to grab a local paper and a bite to eat.”

Sam nodded his agreement, tossing his bag on the floor by the bed that Dean hadn’t already claimed. He paused, then unzipped the bag and dug into it, pulling out their dad’s journal. He flipped quickly to the back.

It only took a few minutes of searching for him to find it. It was a short passage, nothing like the well-researched, carefully-written and -illustrated entries that the journal consisted mostly of. It said:

_The Shadow Proclamation_

_Collective designed to_ _~~hunt~~ _ _find/try Hunters. Located in separate dimension. Capable of transporting humans across dimensions. Powerful locating spells. More than one type of demon involved. Some humans (?)_

And last, in larger, heavier handwriting:

_ DON’T _ _ Trust the Dr. _

Sam didn’t know what else he’d expected, but his stomach dropped nonetheless. The word  _ don’t _ was written a little too far off to the left of the page, in blue ink, while the rest was in black. It was like his dad had changed his mind after writing it the first time. He wondered what had happened, that the Doctor had gained, and then lost, his father’s trust.

“Feel like a burger, Sammy?” Dean asked, and Sam jumped at his sudden voice.

He started to answer, but stopped when a thought occurred to him. “Lemme see your hand, Dean,” he said, reaching across the gap between the beds. Dean frowned but held his hand out, and as he did, his eyes widened.

“Damn,” Dean whispered.

It was unreal. It was like the gun hadn’t backfired at all. His hand was reddened and warm where the wounds had been, but the skin had knitted itself back together perfectly. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, Sam would never have believed that Dean had sustained such a painful injury only a few hours ago.

Dean took his hand back and turned it back and forth in amazement. “I almost forgot,” he said.

It didn’t make sense. Don’t trust the Doctor. But what kind of demon healed the very Hunter it was hunting?

Sam tried to shake it off, and said, “Okay, so I found the entry you talked about in Dad’s journal.” He handed the book to Dean, pointing out the passage.

Dean whistled low. “How’d I forget the part about the Doc?” he asked after a moment. “So he did know Dad, and it had something to do with whatever this Shadow Proclamation is. What did the Doctor say about it?”

“He said he was doing his duty under the Shadow Proclamation,” Sam recalled. “That, plus this, doesn’t sound great.”

“Well, Dad did cross out  _ hunt _ , so that’s something at least,” Dean said, but he didn’t look up from the journal, and that if nothing else showed Sam how disturbed his brother was. Finally he tore his eyes away from the paper and looked up at Sam. “What did he mean  _ try _ ?”

“I mean, like a court?” Sam offered, but it sounded strange in his own head. Demons holding court? Demons with a judicial system? Dean snorted, and Sam didn’t blame him. Then Dean tossed the journal back onto Sam’s bed and grabbed the telephone book from under the lamp stand. Sam gave him a quizzical look.

“Demon collective or no demon collective, I’m still freakin’ hungry,” Dean said simply.

As Dean began his ongoing search for the perfect cheeseburger anew, Sam lay back on his bed and thought. Thought about this Shadow Proclamation that they knew so little about. Thought about the fact that his dad had withheld information from them that could be so vital now. Thought about the Doctor, and Dean’s hand. Why on earth would he have fixed Dean’s hand?

And, a small voice in the back of Sam’s head added, if he’d fixed Dean’s hand, what else might he be able to fix?

Sam looked up at Dean, watching his brother scour the telephone book, his finger following the lines and his brow furrowed as he tried to judge the quality of the burger by the name of the place. He smiled to himself, just a little bit. His brother. His stupid, arrogant, self-sacrificing brother, who had less than a year to live. Thanks to Sam.

The smile faded.

Sometimes, when they were turning in for the night, nursing whatever various injuries they’d sustained but high on the adrenaline of a hunt well-finished, Sam would watch his brother and swear he could see flames licking at his shoulders already, chains rising up to snake around his ankles. It hurt so much, and even his grief made him angry, because he wasn’t the one who was going to suffer. He never was. Dean always made sure of that.

But.

If the Doctor really was part of whatever this Shadow Proclamation was, powerful demon collective or whatever it turned out to be, maybe he knew somebody who could help get Dean out of his deal. Maybe that somebody was him. Maybe, if they kept him happy, he could save Dean.

Immediately, Sam sighed and ran his hands over his face. Dean was never going to go along with that. He hadn’t when it was Ruby, and he wouldn’t now, especially now that he’d seen their dad’s note about not trusting the Doctor. But maybe Dean didn’t need to know. Sam wasn’t sure that his inevitable displeasure with the idea was enough of a reason not to give it a shot. Because whatever else the Doctor might be, for all the things Sam didn’t know about him, all signs pointed to him being powerful. Maybe powerful enough to do it.

“I give up,” Dean announced, slamming the phone book down on the lamp stand. Sam jumped and glanced over at Dean, who was grinning at him in a way that promised nothing good. “Guess we’ll have to ask your girlfriend where to get a good burger,” he said, sure enough.

Sam groaned. “Dude, let it go,” he begged, but he knew it was useless. Dean was already up, grabbing his wallet, a gun, and a knife, and he took off downstairs without even seeming to have heard Sam’s words. Sam followed him quickly, if only to do damage control.

When they arrived at the front desk, the girl was sorting papers and looking irritable. Her mouth was twisted down in a frown and she was muttering something under her breath as she evened out a stack of papers by banging them against the counter with considerable violence. She rolled her eyes and had that look about her of somebody rehearsing an argument and winning it pretty handily.

Dean cleared his throat, and she jumped and put the papers down. “Oh!” she exclaimed, flushing a little bit and smiling in embarrassment. “Sorry, didn’t see you. Can I help you?”

Dean sidled up to the counter and leaned on it with one elbow, cranking the charm up to eleven with a million-watt grin. Sam looked pained. “We’re looking for the best burger in town,” Dean said smoothly. “Know where that might be?”

The girl’s grin turned genuine and she leaned in close to Dean, conspiratorially. “Oh, I can do you one better than that,” she said, just as smoothly as Dean. Dean raised an eyebrow. “If you can wait about five minutes, I’m off shift, and I’ll  _ show _ you where you can get the best burger in town.”

Dean twisted around so that Sam could see his face but not the girl, and his expression could only be described as  _ gleeful _ . “We can wait,” he said, doing a pretty miserable job of keeping that same glee out of his voice. The girl gave a quirky smile, her tongue sticking out between her teeth just the smallest amount, and gestured for them to have a seat while she bustled around behind the counter, arranging and tidying.

A few minutes later a disgruntled-looking young man arrived through the front door, and the girl greeted him. He ignored her aside from a grunt, which didn’t seem to bother her. She told him good-bye cheerily and then came around to the front of the counter as he took her place behind it, and she looked expectantly at the Winchesters.

“I assume,” she said, “you have a car.” Her eyebrows lifted a little.

Dean’s eyes grew wide, and he nodded, grinning ear to ear. “Oh yeah,” he said. “I have a car.”

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this story a million years ago to ff.n, and never got around to porting it over here. I've recently started watching Doctor Who again and had a brainstorm about a continuation of this fic that I'd started years ago, so I figured I'd start by rewriting this one and going from there!
> 
> I am looking for a beta! If you're interested in beta-ing for me shoot me a line at maddykatzen@gmail.com. :)


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